


Bad Lucked into Worse

by CelticGHardy



Category: Eureka
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticGHardy/pseuds/CelticGHardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This run of bad luck was bad, even for Fargo. There had to be something behind it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Lucked into Worse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the HC prompt, cursed. Not my first Eureka story, technically. The other one was a comment-fic though. 
> 
> This is already on livejournal; I figured more people would see it and appreciate it over here.

The first thing that happened was the milk was expired.

Most people would have just chalked it up to a tiny bit of bad luck and forgetting to get a fresh batch. Fargo was not most people. Also, he got fresh milk last night because he remembered that he needed milk. So, unless the grocery store in town accidentally sold close to expiring milk, which wouldn't happen because they had a system that alerted them to when the milk was close, his milk had mysteriously gone bad. He checked the refrigerator and made sure it hadn't died on him. Nothing else had spoiled, but the only other things were a half bottle of ketchup and an empty bottle of mustard.

That meant he left for work earlier than usual, because he was going to have to swing by Vincent's cafe for breakfast. The man was surprised to see him, but prepared an overstuffed omelet with completely fresh milk. Satisfied, he walked out, ready for work.

Two arms wrapped around him and pulled him back before he was able to start walking into the street. Three seconds later, a car with someone yelling sped by, followed by another going just as fast. “Sorry, Fargo,” Sheriff Carter apologized before running off after the cars. _Great, the day hasn't even started and nothing can go right._

GD was worse than most days. There were three scientists that threatened to maim him, two threatened to kill. Three others actually tried to hurt him. He almost didn't get away from Doctor Kisnen except Doctor Stark ordered him to his office. He heard about a failed experiment that the brass was supposed to be shown in a week. It hadn't been Fargo's purview, but he had just been testy with the amount of failures that had been going through GD. He had chewed him out, and most of the time he shrugged it off because it was laced with frustration or a minor notion of depression after the final separation from Doctor Blake. This was complete anger, and utterly aimed at him. When he finally was allowed to check on projects, he kept his head down while walking.

He wanted to go to Vincent's after work, but the problems with the scientists meant he couldn't get out until the cafe was closed. The pizza place wasn't okay with taking an order from him, which meant he went home to a kitchen that was still bare. Hungry, he tried finding something to settle his stomach. One thing tasted rancid and another was stale.

Sleep was crappy, failures in life popping up so when he woke up in the morning, he already felt low. Vincent was overrun with people, so he couldn't get breakfast before heading to work. Stark ignored him when he tried to update him on what he needed to do for the day and he ran off when the man finally acknowledged him, anger filling his voice when he issued commands.

Doctor Kisnen cornered him after leaving section three. Part of her prototype for an ultralight but sturdy and collapsible stretcher was in her hand, the tube that was meant for one of the carrying sides. “This is your fault,” she accused, brandishing it like a baseball bat.

“What are you talking about?”

“You ruined my work after rushing out. You bumped into a table and broke the other part of the frame.” She brought it down and he barely managed to get his arms up before it hit the left forearm instead of his skull.

Doctor Blake had been walking with Carter when they came across the scene. “Hey!” the Sheriff shouted, grabbing the tube out of her hand before arresting her.

Carefully, Blake took his arm and felt along the quickly forming bruise. “We'll check it out, but it doesn't feel like this is broken.” He nodded and just followed along. One of the nurses took him aside and scanned his arm before looking for any fractures. There weren't any, and he prepared to get back to checking on projects when Carter came in.

“Heya Fargo,” he greeted, stopping next to him. “Sounded like you weren't badly hurt. Why did Kisnen attack you, anyway?”

“She said I ruined her project. The pole you were holding was one part of a stretcher she was working on. Somehow, I broke a different part yesterday,” he informed. 

“Got it,” he nodded, “Do you, uh, want to press charges?”

He frowned, “Not really, at least she shouldn't get that much time in jail. If there is a jail you can send her to.” He followed him out, rubbing the bruise. “Because of your _life_ style could I ask you something?”

He sighed, “Go ahead, Fargo.”

“Is is possible for curses to be real? And is it possible to arrest them for casting one?”

He puzzled over the idea he was posing. “I'm not sure there are laws against casting spells and curses, even if they cause harm. Why?”

“I just... Bad things have been happening more often than usual, even for me,” he confessed, “Not that I believe in curses.”

“Of course not.” Fargo got called over by Stark, who looked pissed. He wasn't even slowing down. _Maybe he hadn't heard the news._ Carter saw that wasn't the case when he almost purposely jammed something into his injured arm. He left to see if anyone was doing experiments on Fargo. Or picking on him. _Could actually be a curse. I think there are a few in town that can cause one._

-

After talking to Allison over whether or not someone had created bad luck magnets or energy and making sure someone hadn't gotten extremely mad at Fargo and was pulling elaborate and possibly deadly pranks, Jack went to check with the first one he knew could pull something like this.

“Doctor Treucil, I know you're not on great terms with Fargo,” he mentioned.

“His dog destroyed my plants,” she reminded, checking water retention in pots.

“Right,” he questioned, “Have you decided to get revenge on Fargo for that? Satchel, potion, good old-fashion curse flung in his direction?”

She stared at him. “Unlike some, I actually obey the threefold law. I would never risk receiving bad luck, especially when I have active experiments that could be ruined by the tiniest problem,” she defended.

“Great. Who wouldn't be listening to the threefold law?”

She wrote down information while thinking of an answer. “Doctors Manpule, Kennison and Forlin. There are probably a few others; I don't keep track.”

“Thank you. I'll just show myself out.”

Checking the other three proved to be dead ends. He decided to check whether or not it was just a random increase of Fargo related problems. It probably should have been his first thought. GD was starting to empty, and he went to try and find Fargo at his desk. He looked in Stark's office. The man was bent over his desk, staring at a files. Only staring. “Where's your assistant?” he inquired.

“Infirmary,” he muttered.

That was disconcerting; he had just left him for a couple of hours. “What happened?”

“Experiment I had him check on became faulty; destroying itself and throwing shrapnel. He got hit by a large piece that went into his arm, and a couple of more went into his chest,” he explained, looking up at Jack's worried face. “The arm piece didn't hit bone. His arm will be in a sling for a while. The chest ones were stopped by his ribs, no major damage.”

“Was Kisnen anywhere nearby?”

“No, she's on suspension for the next three weeks after attacking Fargo.”

“And no one's working on something that could simulate a curse, right?” The glare he was sent made him raise his hands and walk out. The infirmary only had one patient, and Fargo was asleep. Unable to talk to him, he went to go investigate the area where the experiment went off. Most of it had been cleaned up, so finding possible sabotage wasn't workable. The scientist that had been working there wasn't around; interviewing that person was out.

Wandering the corridors, he ran into Allison. “Hey,” he greeted.

“Hi,” she returned.

“So, I heard about the experiment that injured Fargo.”

“Yeah, Seines was sure the safety protocols were completely up and made sure they had prepared for everything. Even for Fargo doing something he's not supposed to.”

“There are safety protocols around Fargo?”

“Not directly around him, but a few have started referring to them as such.” She checked something on the tablet she had been carrying. “I'm surprised Nathan's treating him the way he is.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “He's being more... mean than normal.” 

He looked down at her, her smile becoming a small amount of laughter. “He means well, but he becomes annoyed with the mistakes Fargo makes. Lately, he's just been angry more than frustrated. Ever since Bechs firing.”

“Bechs, the man you had me escort out last week?”

“Yes, he promised to get back at Nathan. Said he wouldn't have a good day for the rest of his life.”

Something about the phrase made Jack think. He excused himself and walked out of GD before calling Jo. “Hey, do you know where Bechs ended up? And could you get me the address?”

-

The stench of bad magick hit Jack when he started walking up to the house just a half-hour outside of Eureka. Technically, the man was supposed to be starting a new job over in Massachusetts. Instead, Bechs had settled in an empty house, and he was brewing some bad energy. “Doctor Bechs, it's Sheriff Carter,” he called out, staying back to not set anything off.

After a minute, a somewhat excited man popped out of the front door. “Hello, Sheriff, are you here to escort me back to Eureka?” he asked.

“No, sorry.” The man became a little angry, and went back in. “Wait.” The man shut the door and he moved closer. “What curse did you perform?”

He came back to the door. “Is Stark in trouble?” he inquired a little too innocently.

“Not quite. You hit the wrong target,” he criticized.

He shook his head, “No, no, that's not possible. I made sure to take a sample of his blood.”

Jack wasn't completely shocked over the admission of the plan. The stealing blood was a nice touch though; most went for hair or skin. Or other bodily fluids. _Guess he couldn't get that from Stark._ “Did you get the blood directly from the source?” he questioned.

“No, but I grabbed a vial of blood after his medical check up.”

 _Did Fargo and Stark have theirs around the same time?_ He had to check. “Doctor Blake,” she answered.

“Hey, this may seem like a weird question, but are any of Stark's blood samples gone?”

He couldn't see it, but she puzzled over the question and walked down to the lab that processed samples. She quickly checked the fridge and counted all the samples filed under Nathan Stark. “No, I don't see any missing,” she reported, then stood up and directly into a section that had a vial missing. She checked the name. “Fargo has a vial missing.”

“Got it, thank you.” He hung up and turned to the man. “You didn't steal any of Stark's.”

“Impossible.”

“That was Doctor Blake. She just confirmed it. You didn't steal Stark's; you stole Fargo's. Right now, he's experiencing some of the worst luck he's ever had. Almost being run over, attacked by a scientist, an exploding experiment. All in two days and that's only the stuff I know about,” he told him. “Do you have a counter for what you cast?”

He twitched, eyes going back and forth. Finally, he let out an annoyed huff before walking inside. He shut the door so Jack couldn't follow him in. He wasn't sure if he could leave until something exploded in the back. He decided to leave, not before yelling, “Call me when you've performed the counter-curse. Or if I need to come back for something.”

-

Someone had removed Fargo's glasses, so everything was blurry when he woke up. He squinted and tried to find where they had placed them so he could see what was going on.

“Don't bother,” someone told him, “You're probably going to go back to sleep in roughly five minutes.” He puzzled over who would be talking to him when he did start feeling drowsy. The person beside him just sighed when he kept trying to find his glasses. “Go back to sleep, Fargo.” His body decided to listen, the arm pulling back and resting on his chest. He fell asleep after six minutes.

The next time he woke up, there was no one waiting at his bedside. His glasses were however in complete view, and he placed them on carefully before leveraging himself up. His chest protested the move, and he kept trying to use his injured arm. Sheriff Carter and Doctor Blake walked in just as he managed to get off the bed. “Fargo, get back in the bed,” she ordered.

“I'm fine,” he argued, “Doctor Stark wanted updates on...”

“Fargo, you need to stay on bed rest,” she insisted.

“But,” he protested.

“You're off for the next four days, until everything heals enough that you can move without further injury,” she assured.

“I'm not fired?”

“No. Doctor Stark's authorizing sick time.”

He nodded, then carefully slid back on the bed. Doctor Blake quickly checked to make sure he didn't hurt himself before walking out. Sheriff Carter stayed behind. “Was I right?” he asked, “Was it a curse?”

He quickly checked to make sure no one was listening. “Bechs thought he stole some of Starks's blood,” he said, “And yes, he performed a curse. He had some of your blood instead.”

“Is there a law against curses?”

“Not a law enforcement one.”

His smile was rueful. “Rats.” He went back asleep.

“He is probably going to suffer some bad luck of his own, though,” he whispered, walking out. “I wouldn't be surprised if Stark manufactures some of it.”


End file.
